


That's What I Would Do

by mermatee



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: F/F, Friends to Lovers, Gals being pals until they're not, MilaSara, Multi, Other, Starts off just before episode 8, kind of a slow-burner, other pairings more of a background thing really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-18 17:04:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9394805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mermatee/pseuds/mermatee
Summary: Mila has plenty of advice to offer Sara on the subject of boys. None of it can possibly be called impartial.





	1. Chapter 1

Most of the time, Sara decided, there was some part of her that appreciated Mickey's concern. It was even endearing when he was squaring up to men who towered over him, mistakenly assuming that the muscles honed from years of skating would be remotely helpful when he had never actually been in a fight, save for shoving that boy in the park over when they were ten because he put gum in her hair (the boy had retaliated by punching him in the nose, leaving her brother simultaneously crying and spluttering weak threats through a stream of blood). Mickey made no secret of his role of self-appointed knight in sequinned armour, determined, in theory, to defend her from the hordes of slavering brutes determined to destroy her virtue, whatever the hell that was. Said brutes were never anywhere to be seen, which he seemed to interpret as a success.

  
Today, however, his constant talking, God, did he ever _shut up_ , was rubbing on the last of her already raw nerves. She had attempted to counteract the jet lag with espresso, but she suspected that she may have overdone it. This hotel lobby was stuffy and smelled too strongly of cleaning products, her heart was rattling against her ribcage, and she could feel sweat pooling in her armpits.

  
It wasn't that she was even that interested in Seung-gil. She was just at that intersecting point between sleep-deprived and full of caffeine where she had energy to burn off. She wanted to run down the corridor and hug people she hadn't seen in over a year and talk to someone who wasn't Mickey, who, incidentally, was still. Talking.

  
They had run into Emil in the elevator, who, as always, had greeted her with one of his bear hugs and asked them both out for lunch, but Mickey, possibly as jet lagged as she was, somehow interpreted this as Emil asking her out, prompting his usual speech about how he wasn't good enough for Sara, how dare he even think about asking her out. He seemed completely oblivious to the fact that the invitation was clearly open to both of them, and that Emil was about to drag him into the hug before he started berating him for being a normal fucking human being. No wonder Seung-gil was so visibly appalled by the idea of joining them for lunch. It was still unnecessary to be that blunt, she thought. At least Yuuri had been polite enough to awkwardly sneak into another elevator, although, given his display last year, he could have just felt embarrassed.

  
Now, she swung her arms, huffing with boredom and ignoring the ugly swirling pattern of the carpet.

  
“- and that Emil is an idiot, I was stuck talking to him at the banquet and he never stops talking-”

  
“Neither do you, Mickey. Just... be quiet, will you?” Sara twirled around, feeling her hair trail behind her like streamers. “You don't have to be a dick to everyone who speaks to me, who else are we supposed to mingle with if not the others?”

Mickey pursed his lips in distaste at her language. “I just don't want anyone to take advantage-”

  
“Take advantage of me? Of course, God forbid anyone genuinely just want to hang out with me-”

  
“You know that's not what I meant.” Mickey placed his hand on her shoulder, but stared at the floor, like he always did when she was too close to snapping at him. Sara shrugged his hand off.

  
“Look, I'm going for a walk.” Mickey looked panicked. “Just around the hotel, not around the city on my own” she added quickly. “It's been a long flight, I drank too much coffee, I just want to walk around and hopefully I can sleep tonight, yes?”

  
Mickey's shoulders slumped, and that pang of guilt wrestling with irritation (how dare he make this about his hurt feelings) jostled her already delicate stomach. She took a deep breath.

  
“Mickey. Come on. Go and take a nap or something. You didn't sleep on the flight over either.”

  
“You'll text me?”

  
“Sure.”

  
Mickey nodded stiffly, and she found herself giving him an exasperated hug.

  
“I'm sorry” he mumbled into her shoulder.

  
“Don't be sorry. Be nice. That includes to Emil, by the way. Maybe you can catch up with him.”

  
“Why would I want to do that?”

  
“Because he's nice and wants to be your friend. And you need a friend.” Her brother's mouth opened to protest, but she cut him off. “One who you didn't share a womb with. Go on, go. I'll see you later.”

*

The hotel had a restaurant area, but it was still packed from the lunch rush. She still didn't feel hungry, veins still buzzing and thrumming from sleep deprivation and coffee, so she bought a bottle of water from a vending machine, and resumed wandering the corridors. Who even does that, she wondered, tossing the cool weight of the bottle from one hand to the other. Roaming around a hotel with nowhere to go. Ghosts? Maybe there were ghosts here. Her grandmother always said that hotels were usually haunted. She shut her eyes and spun a few times down a long hallway with even more of that revolting carpet, humming under her breath, and probably, she figured, looking like she was having some sort of breakdown. She stopped, arms raised gracefully, striking the last pose of her own routine, and suddenly felt very aware of a slight warmth tickling her face. A ghost? No, they would be cold. She cracked one eye open, and shrieked at the sight of a very out-of-focus blue eye two inches from hers.

|  
Mila doubled over laughing, while Sara gasped and clutched at her chest, which was now threatening to explode.

  
“Mila, you absolute-”

  
Her friend flung her arms around her and pressed a kiss to her cheek, no doubt leaving a slight pink sheen from her lip gloss. “I'm sorry, little prima ballerina, I couldn't resist, how are you? I was going to text you!”

  
“I'm only little next to you, how did you manage to get taller? And I'm... urgh, I'm tired. But not tired, too awake. You know, coffee, that's why the water-” Most of the skaters from different countries tended to communicate in English, but her brain clearly was not cooperating right now, and she didn't speak anywhere near enough Russian. Mila shook her head.

  
“You have been drinking that nasty coffee?”

  
“So much. It was such a long flight, and I couldn't sleep, there was this baby who wouldn't be quiet-”

  
“Where is Michele, anyway?”

  
“Hah. Funny. I don't know, I told him to go bother Emil for a while, since he was a jerk to him earlier.”

  
“Why? Actually, never mind, you can tell me over tea. Come on, my room's this way.” Mila slipped an arm into Sara's, and started walking.

  
“What kind of tea?”

  
“It's fine, it's some of that caffeine free green tea. Lilia makes Yuri drink it, which means we all suffer it.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste, and retrieved her key card from her pocket.

  
Sara wasn't sure why she felt the need to stop then, maybe it was the human contact, or the sheer exhaustion, or the relief at seeing someone who understood the nature of this career, who she could see after a year and talk to as though no time had passed, who understood when to talk about routines and injuries and signature moves and when to just drop the well-worn subject and talk about literally anything else. Whatever it was, she felt herself pull Mila into a fierce hug, somewhat aware that her face was pressed against her chest. Not that Mila would care, she had never had much of a sense of personal space.

  
“Mmfff. Miffed you” Sara mumbled into her friend's tracksuit top. Mila squeezed her back, and used the opportunity to pick her up, prompting an undignified squawk. “Missed you too, Crispy!” she sang, resurrecting the much-loathed nickname. “Come on, catch-up time. Tell me everything.”

 


	2. 2.

“Why is she angry?”

Sara was sprawled out on the bed in Mila's hotel room, occasionally lifting her head ever so slightly to look at the TV, which was currently tuned to what appeared to be a Russian soap opera. A middle-aged woman with masses of curly blonde hair was currently screaming at a pouting younger woman. Being in Russian, the plot was incomprehensible to her. 

Mila glanced up from painting her toenails with some lurid pink polish. “What do you think she's angry about?”

Sara hummed softly. “Let me see. She is the other woman's mother.”

“Good guess.”

“She's angry because her daughter is ungrateful.”

“Hmm. Kinda.”

“Because she put her whole life on hold to have her daughter....”

“...maaaybe....”

“...who is actually the daughter of Satan, who wants his spawn to carry out his work on Earth.”

Mila groaned. “Exactly what kind of soaps do you have in Italy?!”

“Is my story better than the real one?”

“...well, yes. She's actually angry because her daughter is marrying her former stepfather, so, Nastia's ex.”

“Is her step-”

“-her stepfather isn't Satan. So yes, your story is better. Maybe they should hire you to write for them, this show has sucked for years now.” Satisfied with her toenails, Mila poked Sara's leg. “Come on, I'll paint yours too.”

“No-one will see them.”

“So? It's for luck.”

“What's lucky about pink nail polish?”

“It's my favourite kind, so I say it's lucky. Come on, I've already done mine, and Yuri's. Not that he needs the luck.”

“I'm surprised he let you.”

“Me too, I got halfway through before he realised that no-one would see them, but let me finish anyway because he didn't want me hogging all the luck for myself, apparently.”

“He doesn't seem like he's superstitious.”

Mila shrugged. “You'd think, but then, he is a literal baby.”

“He's fifteen!”

“Yeah, but he's a brat. And I'm stuck with being the only one torturing him because Georgi's still moping over Anya, and Viktor's off playing coach.”

“He seems to be doing well.”

“Yeah. Yakov's still mad though.” Mila tugged one of Sara's socks off, and reached for the polish. “We've got Lilia hanging around all the time now, which probably doesn't help. She's only there for Yuri, but she keeps shouting about my posture. Even when I'm just sitting down. And she never smiles. Who doesn't smile? I smile all the time.”

“And you are a pest.” Sara poked her tongue out. 

“How dare you. I am a delight.” She observed her work on Sara's right foot, and nodded in appreciation. “Sit up, I need your other foot.” Without waiting, she grabbed both of Sara's ankles and spun her around until the required foot was in her lap. 

“Easy!”

“I've been doing weights lately, can you tell?”

Sara reached over and pinched Mila's upper arm. It felt warm and solid. “Very.... hench.”

“Hench?”

“Shut up, you know what I mean.”

“Sure, brah.” Mila grabbed the snapback Sara had discarded as soon as she lay down on the bed. “Hey brah, you going to the kegger, brah?”

Sara snatched the hat back and yanked it onto her head. “Dude, you know I can't, Alpha Beta Boob are having a pillow fight in their panties, we can't miss that!” They both snorted with laughter. 

“Boys are ridiculous.”

“Yeah.”

“Speaking of which....” Mila raised an eyebrow. “Any luck in the last year? What happened with that Marc guy? You said Mickey scared him off?”

“Of course he did. Like he does everyone.”

“That sucks. Have you talked to him?”

“Of course, so many times. But I'm going to have to really...” lost for words, Sara firmly slammed one hand down on the pillow. “You know. Be blunt. So there's no room for him to make a sad face and make me feel bad.”

“Of course. Look, he's been ruining all chances for you to have a social life outside of him. I know he's your brother, but it's selfish, Sara.”

“He thinks he's protecting me.”

Mila rolled her eyes and finished painting the last toenail. “Does he? Or has he convinced himself that he's protecting you just because he's too scared to make his own friends?”

“I don't know.” She lay back on the bed, tossing the snapback onto the floor behind her. “I don't get why he wouldn't want friends.”

“Well, you're not just brother and sister. Or even twins. You've been skating together since day one, you spend all your time together, you're basically the only person he is certain will never reject him. Yakov says that skaters who train together already have a closer bond than most regular friends, add the family dynamic and the need to be a big strong man into that and that's how you end up with... well, with Mickey.”

“Are you a psychologist now?”

“Nah. It's just pretty obvious, don't you think?”

“I guess not to me.” Sara lay her head back on the pillow. The soap opera had ended, and she assumed she was looking at an advertisement.

“Sorry. I didn't mean to be a jerk, I know he's your brother. It just sucks that he won't let you do anything.”

“Mmm.” She could feel her eyes start to jerk around and fail to focus on anything, a sure sign of sleep. 

“And hey, you should get out more. You can't always be skating. Even I get away sometimes. Come to St. Petersburg, I'll show you around.” Mila lay down next to her and stretched.

There was a brief period of quiet, and Sara managed to force her eyes open. “Mila?”

Mila herself was sprawled out, eyes closed, although her breathing indicated that she wasn't quite asleep. 

“Mm?”

“Can I crash here? I'm comfortable now. I'll text Mickey.”

“Sure.” Mila lifted her legs in the air and wriggled under the covers. “C'mon, it's warm.”

The last thing Sara remembered after pulling the duvet up to her chin was feeling for her phone as a jingle chirped from the TV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a bit of bonding time. I figured it'd be nice to establish their relationship at the moment before moving onto plot stuff.   
> Also, we never see Sara in anything other than her standard issue skating tracksuit, a costume, or a fancy dress for a formal event. I really like the idea of her dressing pretty casual (snapback and all, because I saw a piece of fan art where she was wearing one and it was adorable).   
> Also also, I like the idea of Mila being arguably the only one of the Russian skaters who is particularly good with people; she knows how to antagonise Yurio, but knows him well enough to shrug off his insults, and still gets on well with him, she has a bit more self-awareness than Georgi (who is a tad ridiculous, even by heartbreak standards), and probably understands people better than Viktor does (he's charismatic, but still lacks tact and, at this point, still struggles to deal with people who are upset).   
> Anyways. Feedback appreciated, as always, and I'm over on Tumblr at gotellthesea if anyone was wondering!


	3. 3.

She had been aware of a soft whirring noise coming from somewhere for a while, but it was gradually getting more and more irritating. It took Sara a while before opening her eyes to remember that she was in Russia, and then a few seconds more to recall that she was lying on Mila's bed. Must have fallen asleep. What time was it? She couldn't even remember what time it had been when she had walked away from Mickey-

Shit. 

She leapt to life and felt around in the bedsheets for her phone, only to finally locate it, angrily buzzing behind the pillow. It fell silent just as she reached it, and she was left staring at the illuminated screen, showing minimal battery power, and forty three missed calls from her brother. Mila stirred. 

“What time is it?”

“Half past eight. Shit. Shit.”

“It's OK, I mean, you didn't have plans tonight, right?”

“No, but I didn't call Mickey and I bet he's-”

Her phone started buzzing again. It took several attempts to swipe across the screen and answer the call. 

“Hi Mickey.”

“Sara? Are you safe? Where are you?”

Oh God, he sounded panicked. He was practically screeching. It would have been hilarious if she didn't feel sick with guilt. 

“I'm fine, I promise, I just met up with Mila and I fell asleep, that's all. I'm sorry I didn't text you, I was just really tired, and we both kinda dozed off, and-”

“Do you have any idea how worried I've been?” He sounded like he was spitting through clenched teeth. 

“I know, I'm sorry, it wasn't on purpose-”

“- I've been sat here for hours now, I would have called the police if Luca hadn't stopped me, and you've been doing what?”

“Sleeping. I told you.” The initial shock to her system had worn off, and the irritation she thought she had abandoned and smothered with sleep started to harden in the base of her spine, prickling its way to her fingertips. “I'm sorry I didn't text you, but no harm done. I'm fine.”

There was a pause. She could hear Luca and someone else talking in the background, but couldn't make much out besides “I said she would be fine”. 

“Where are you really?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Where are you? Did you meet up with some man? Is that why you wanted to get away?”

She clenched her fingers around her phone. “Do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound right now?”

“Well, I don't know, Sara, I've only been sat in my room worried sick all day!” He was yelling now. Mila raised an eyebrow qizzically. 

“Don't you yell at me, and stop being so dramatic. It was a few hours, at most.”

“In Russia! How did I know you hadn't been taken by gangsters or-”

“Oh, don't be stupid.”

“I sent Emil out looking for you!”

Another voice chimed in in the background. “I didn't find you though, hi Sara!”

Sara couldn't help but laugh a little. “Well, obviously. Hi, Emil. Do me a favour and slap my brother for me will you?”

“This isn't funny, now tell me where you are! I'll come get you.”

“I'm in Mila's room, I told you.”

“I don't believe you.”

“Why the fuck would I lie about that?” She was starting to raise her voice now, partly recognising the familiar start of a reoccurring argument that usually ended with both of them screaming at each other, followed by her brother tearfully telling her that he was sorry, he just worried, and her storming off to bed, only to make him a cup of coffee hours later and say sorry, she's sorry for being a terrible sister, she's sorry for not putting him first, all while biting back a million explanations and buts and it's justs. 

“Fine. Prove it. Put her on.”

“You know what? Fine. Mila, sorry to do this to you, but talk to my idiot brother and tell him you're not a Russian gangster.”

Mila took the phone, and answered in a gruff voice. “Ah, Mr. Crispino. Ve hav your sister, and shall be sending her left ear within the hour unless you obey our-”

“You think this is fucking funny?!” shrieked Mickey. 

“...a little, yes. Hi, Mickey. Totally my fault, we were catching up and watching TV and then we fell asleep. Now calm down and stop shouting, your sister is safe and has apologised, and unless she can go back in time, there's nothing else to be done.”

“What room are you in? I'm coming to get her.”

Before Mila could respond, Sara snatched her phone back. “Not telling. You know what? I don't want to deal with you right now. You've been an ass all day, and I would rather spend my evening with the actual Russian mafia than you when you're like this. I'll come back to my room when I feel like it.” Her phone whirred again, alerting her to just how little battery life was left. “Battery's nearly dead, tell Luca to wake me up at six.”

“But-”

“Goodnight, Mickey.” She hung up, just catching Emil shouting a goodbye in the background. 

It was quiet for a while before Mila spoke up. 

“So....”

“God, he is such. An. Idiot!” Sara snapped, punctuating each syllable with a punch to the pillow. “You just know he was taking everything out on Luca and Emil because everything has to be a drama with him, because I can't just go out, or even go piss without him thinking I've been kidnapped, it's like I'm... uh...” she grasped at the air “... what's her name? The one who gets kidnapped all the time?”

“How should I know? Is this a real person, or...”

“No, from some old cartoon, blonde lady, always getting kidnapped, pink car?”

“I have no idea who you're talking about, but I get your point.”

Sara's phone started vibrating again. She resolutely ignored it. “He's just.... frustrating. Because we fight like this every time I'm out of his sight for more than five minutes, and then I'm mad at him, and I want to sit him down and tell him exactly what I need to, but without me being angry, because then we just end up yelling. But when I go to talk to him, he's sorry, and he cries sometimes and it's kind of pathetic, and that just makes it worse- God, I sound like I'm talking about a shitty boyfriend.”

“You really do.”

“Is that weird?”

“It's incredibly weird. And that's why you need to... break up with him? I can't think of a better way of putting it, sorry.”

“It's fine. I've read the comments online. I was going to watch Game of Thrones at some point, but I've seen a few Lannister memes with our faces pasted in and I really don't want to know the context.”

“That's probably for the best. Sorry though. People are shitty.”

“Yeah.”

They both sat in silence for a while, Sara turning her phone over and over in her hands. The battery had finally died. Eventually, Mila spoke. 

“Let's go get something to eat.”

“Now? Won't everywhere be closed?”

“Nah, it's not even nine. There's a cafe nearby, they sell sandwiches pretty late. Come on, my treat.”

“Hah. Luca's going to love that, late night carbs.”

“Oh come on, you haven't eaten anything in hours. They do salads too, if you're that picky.”

“Aren't Russian salads all full of mayonnaise?”

“Yes. Which is all the more reason to just get a sandwich.”

Sara did feel hungry. 

“OK. Just for a little while.”

*

The cafe, mercifully, was warm. Mila had loaned Sara a quilted jacket, scarf, hat and gloves, but the night air still bit through to the bone, despite the lack of wind. Mila seemed accustomed to it, cheerfully shuffling through the snow at a pace Sara couldn't quite match. Now, full in a way her usual turkey breast and leaves and protein shakes couldn't quite match, she slumped in the booth, plastic on the seats squeaking under her. 

“Why does this place look so American?”

“Correction: American thirty years ago. And I have no idea.” Mila sipped her hot chocolate, then suddenly spat it out, creasing up.

“Too hot?”

“No, it's not that” Mila spluttered, “I just realised. Your brother was really worried about Russian gangsters getting at you?”

“You know him. Drama.”

“You're fucking Italian!”

“Yeah, and he worries about the same thing back home as well!”

“You need to befriend your local don.”

“No I don't. I don't think we have one, actually.”

“Aw. Not one big fat guy stroking a cat?”

“Now you're thinking of Bond villains, that's your territory.”

“Seriously though, become a mob wife. Even Mickey wouldn't be able to chase an actual mobster away.”

“OK, if you become a mob wife. We can have a joint wedding and bring the Russian and Italian mobsters together.”

“And then we shoot all of them and run away with their money?”

“And then we'll get married and have our own series of Mob Wives, but we're each other's mob wife.”

“Deal.”

“But we don't shoot Mickey.”

“Not even in the knee?”

“No. Be nice to your brother-in-law.”

“Fine.” Mila raised her mug. “To skating champion mob wives.”

“Skating champion mob wives.”

*

It would be nice, she thought later, back in Mila's hotel room. Obviously not the life of crime aspect, but just spending her days with someone who didn't seem like such hard work. Even when they first met, when Mila was still in the junior division, Sara had just been so relieved to find another skater who she could sit and talk about music with, who braided her hair and did the most ridiculous impression of her glowering coach. Someone whose love of drama only seemed to extend as far as silly fantasies and hypothetical scenarios in which neither of them were broken down by cruel men (who, she noticed, never seemed to notice either of them anyway, save for the occasional unsettling fan who stared a little too hard). Even Mickey couldn't possibly object to her spending time with Mila, or at least hadn't until possibly now. 

Her friend was snoring slightly, sprawled out with pink fleecy pyjamas riding up. She'd have to ask when she got her navel pierced. The thought of tickling her exposed, lean stomach (God, she envied and admired that) crept into Sara's mind, but she settled for wriggling back under the duvet, and counting the slightly stuttering breaths in and out until she knew only warmth and the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to put here but man, I would happily watch a show about sapphic mob wives.   
> Next chapter: What's Mila thinking about? Spoiler: it's only partially to do with sandwiches and/or a life of crime.

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaand we're off. As always, feedback is appreciated. I can't lie, I love this pairing, looking forward to getting down to the real bones of their relationship now the scene's been set.


End file.
